Breaking the ice
by cein
Summary: chapter 3 - Stella looks out for an injured Flack.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Breaking the Ice

Title: Breaking the Ice 1/?

Author: Ceindreadh

Characters/Pairing: Flack, Stella, Mac. Eventual Flack/Stella

Rating: T/PG-15

Summary: Flack is in trouble; Stella and Mac look out for him

Genre: Het, hurt/comfort, a little romance (hopefully!) on the side.

Notes: Started writing this mid-way through S3, so that's roughly where it's set.

I've had it kicking around my hard drive for ages, so I figured I should post it.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the CSI NY characters, I'm only borrowing them, and I promise to return them in minty fresh condition when I'm finished.

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"So tell me again why Flack wanted us to meet him here?" asked Stella as she heaved her CSI kit out of the trunk. She shivered slightly in the cool winter air, thankful that she'd worn her heavier coat that day.

Mac shrugged, "He said he might have a lead on some evidence in the Foster case. Wanted us to come and check it out."

"Risa Foster was murdered five blocks from here," said Stella. "What makes him think something in this alley is connected?"

"Guess we'll just have to ask him," said Mac. "He should be just down through here."

But Detective Don Flack was not in a position to be asked anything. As Mac and Stella rounded the corner to the alley, they saw him slumped against a wall, one hand clutching the side of his head. Blood streamed down from between his fingers, and his face was pale.

"Don!" called Mac as he and Stella ran to his side. "What happened?"

"Some…some guy…white guy, black jacket…hit me…came outta nowhere…" Don groaned.

"How long ago?" asked Stella..

"Ugh…a few minutes…not…not long…" Don took his hand away from his head, looking at it almost in surprise as it came away covered in blood. "Oh man!"

"Stay here," ordered Mac, drawing his gun as he hurried down the far end of the alley.

"You should sit down," said Stella, "You look terrible."

"I'm fine," said Don, pushing away from the wall. "Just got taken by surprise. I'll be okay…I…"

His face turned even paler as he slumped against Stella. It took all of her strength to lower him down to a seated position. "Easy there Don, you might have a concussion." Hearing footsteps, she looked up to see Mac returning. "Any sign?"

Mac shook his head as he crouched down beside the pair. "He could have gone anywhere. How's Don?"

"I think we should call an ambulance," said Stella.

"No, no, no," said Don. "I'm fine…just got a little dizzy…I don't need an ambulance." He shook his head for emphasis, but the movement proved to be a mistake. A wave of nausea hit him and he barely managed to lean forward enough to avoid vomiting on himself. He could feel Mac and Stella supporting him as he threw up, and then everything just faded out.

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"Don, can you hear me?" It was a woman's voice sounding to Don like it was coming from a long way away.

"Go 'way," he mumbled. "Not time to get up…" He rubbed his cheek against the soft surface beneath it. "Few more minutes, 'kay?"

"Don." This was a man's voice now. "If you can hear me, I want you to open your eyes."

Don groaned, wondering why these people wouldn't let him be. He was tired and he was sore and his pillow was just about in the perfect position for comfort. Without opening his eyes, he reached out and tried to adjust it just a fraction. This time, Don felt as well as heard somebody clearing their throat.

"Don Flack, you had damn well better be concussed!"

The voice sounded only half annoyed, but the tone was enough to make Don force his eyes open. He blinked a few times before he finally managed to focus on the face of Stella Bonasera, which was looming over him. "Stella?" he said, confused. "I…what?"

"You might want to think about moving your hand," said Stella, her tone even.

Still confused, Don looked around to see that his head was pillowed against Stella's chest, and his hand…shit! He pulled it away as if it had been burned, and would have moved his whole body away if he could have.

"Easy there Don," said Stella, reassuringly. "Last time you tried to move so fast, you passed out. Just stay where you are." It wasn't like he had much choice, thought Stella as she tightened her arms around Don's upper body. After he'd thrown up, Don had passed out and it had been an instinctive reaction to grab him before he ended up flat on the ground in his own vomit. She hadn't wanted to risk moving him further until the ambulance arrived. Fortunately, less than a minute had passed before Don had started to come round.

Now Mac crouched in front of Don, and gently pulled up his eyelid before shining his torch into each eye. "There's an ambulance on the way, Don," he said. "You'll need to get checked out by a doctor. Probably need some stitches in that head lac."

"…'kay," mumbled Don.

"What did he hit you with?" asked Mac, partly in his CSI Detective mode, but mainly he was interested in keeping Don alert and oriented as much as possible.

Don waved his hand clumsily. "Board…piece…piece of wood…one second I was checking…checking dumpster…turned around…boom, there he was…didn't…didn't hear him coming…" He groaned again, more at his own supposed carelessness than any sense of pain.

Mac glanced around the alleyway. There was a length of wood only a few feet away. Even from that distance he could see what looked like bloodstains on it.

"Why were you checking the dumpster?" asked Stella.

Don frowned as he tried to collect his thoughts. "Checked…checked with the company…rented the dumpsters outside the Foster scene."

"We searched all the dumpsters for the weapon," said Mac. "Came up empty." Even as he spoke, Mac was retrieving his camera from his bag and setting up an evidence marker beside the wood.

"Yeah…but Foster'd been dead for hours before we'z got to the scene. I figured maybe some of them might a been moved. So…so I checked with the owners. They'z said one of them got shifted over here…" He waved at the dumpster next to them. "Figured it was worth a shot."

The sound of a siren interrupted them as an ambulance pulled up at the end of the alley.

"I'll process this scene," said Mac. "You go with Don to the ER."

"Suppose you'll be wanting the shirt off my back for evidence again," mumbled Don, tiredly.

"Don't think we'll need to go that far," said Stella, rubbing Don's arm gently, "But I will need to get shots of your injury. You know the drill."

"Yeah," said Don, sighing heavily as the paramedics approached.

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To be continued

Ceindreadh


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Breaking the Ice 2?  
Author: Ceindreadh  
Characters/Pairing: Flack, Stella. Eventual Flack/Stella  
Rating: T/PG-15  
Summary: Flack is in trouble; Stella looks out for him  
Genre: Het, hurt/comfort, a little romance (hopefully!) on the side.  
Notes: Started writing this mid-way through S3, so that's roughly where it's set.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the CSI NY characters, I'm only borrowing them, and I promise to return them in minty fresh condition when I'm finished.  
Previously on my CSI NY - Stella and Mac went to meet Flack, but found him injured.

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"Suppose you'll be wanting the shirt off my back for evidence again," mumbled Don, tiredly.

"Don't think we'll need to go that far," said Stella, rubbing Don's arm gently, "But I will need to get shots of your injury. You know the drill."

"Yeah," said Don, sighing heavily as the paramedics approached.

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[2]  
Don did indeed 'know the drill'. He'd spent many hours hanging round Emergency Rooms waiting for a perp or victim or fellow officer to be treated. He'd even spent time there as a patient, having picked up his share of knocks while in uniform. The one constant in all these things was the time he had spent just waiting.

Don looked at the clock for what seemed like the hundredth time. "This is ridiculous," he grumbled. "What the hell's taking so long? I should a been back at the house ages ago."

"Technically you're a 'minor injury'," said Stella, looking up from the notes she was making. "We got in just after a multi-vehicle MVA. You're lucky you even got a bed."

"Call this a bed," muttered Don, thumping the mattress of the gurney he was sitting on.

He'd been feeling much better by the time the paramedics had shown up, and only Mac's refusal to countenance otherwise had made him go with them to the hospital. He had drawn the line at being strapped down to a gurney though, insisting that he was perfectly well able to sit up straight. Of course after a few blocks of stopping and starting in New York traffic, Don's head had started spinning again and he'd started to regret his earlier stubbornness. Only Stella's comforting presence beside him as they'd taken yet another sharp corner had kept him from giving in and passing out again.

By the time they'd reached the hospital, Don had been too groggy to make more than a token protest when they'd been met by a nurse with a wheelchair. He'd been assessed, directed to a cubicle, waited to be seen by a kid doctor who looked barely out of High School. Then he'd had to wait until he could be wheeled up for an X-Ray, more waiting for his turn in the machine, and now he was sitting here waiting for somebody, Ianybody/I to show up and give him the all clear.

The only bright spot in the whole afternoon had been that Stella had been waiting for him when he'd gotten back from X-Ray. Bad and all as it was being stuck here waiting, at least he wasn't on his own. Don knew that she was probably only waiting there to see if there was any more debris in the gash on his head that could be matched up to the weapon used, having already bagged and tagged a few samples from the doc's examination. But still, it was nice to have Isomebody/I to pass the time with. Not that Don was feeling like he was much company.

"I'm sure it won't be too much longer," said Stella, glancing quickly at her watch.

"Look, you don't have to stay here," said Don. "I mean, if there's anything left in here..." he indicated the dressing on his head, "...I'm sure the doc will just bag it up for youze. Not like it's gonna be any different from what you've already got, and Mac's probably pitchin a fit wondering where you've got to."

"I told him I'd be here as long I was needed," said Stella. She smiled at Don, and suddenly he was feeling a whole lot better.

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Don wasn't feeling so well after the Doctor had come back and stuck a few stitches in his head, but he was damned if he was gonna give the guy an excuse to lock him up overnight. He'd spent way too much time looking at the four walls of a hospital room, and even an overnight stay wasn't something he wanted to repeat.

"I'm telling you Doc, I'm fine," he repeated as the Doctor shone a light in his eyes for what felt like the twentieth time.

"No dizziness, no nausea?"

"No and no," said Don, "Look just give me my clothes and let me outta here!"

"Headache?"

Don hesitated only briefly before answering, "I got smacked in the head with a two by four, what do *you* think?"

"I think that you could easily have a delayed reaction to the concussion and it would be far better for you if you stayed here overnight for observation, but if you insist on leaving, then I can only sign you out on the condition that you have somebody at home who will be able to check on you every few hours. *Do* you have somebody to look after you?"

Don's face fell, "No," he said reluctantly. He glanced over at Stella and seemed about to say something, but sighed heavily instead. "No."

"I'll get the paperwork sorted then," said the doctor. "We'll move you upstairs as soon as they can find a bed."

"More waiting," groaned Don.

Stella looked at his disconsolate face and quickly made up her mind, following the doctor out of the cubicle. "Doctor, do you really think that Don...that Detective Flack's condition is likely to deteriorate?"

"Admitting him is really just a precaution," said the doctor. "In all likelihood he'll be fine with a few days rest. But obviously we'd prefer to err on the side of caution."

"I see," said Stella.

A few minutes later she was back in Don's cubicle. "Get your clothes on, Flack, I'm busting you out of here!"

"What? How? Why?"

"I told your doctor you'd be staying at my place tonight. He's just gone to sort out the paperwork, but I told him if he wasn't back in fifteen minutes I was hijacking a wheelchair and staging a hospital break."

"Shit, Stella, you're the greatest!"

"Well you've served enough time in this place." Stella patted Don on the hand, "Come on!"

Don didn't need telling twice. He pushed aside the blanket and swung his legs over the side of the gurney. The sudden movement made his head spin, but he held tightly to the edge of the mattress and waited until things had settled down. A light touch on his arm made him look up.

There was a look of concern on Stella's face as she asked, "Can you manage or do you need some help getting dressed?"

Don was still somewhat embarrassed over the whole 'using Stella's breasts as a pillow' incident, and the last thing he wanted at this present time was for her to be helping him with his clothes. "I can manage," he said a little gruffly, as he reached for the bag with his things.

"Are you sure? I can get a nurse to help."

Of course she wouldn't have meant to help him *herself* thought Don. Out loud he said, "I'm good."

"Okay, I'm just going to update Mac. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Don nodded in acknowledgement as Stella pushed her way through the curtains of his cubicle.

A few minutes turned out to be closer to ten, but Don needed every minute of it to pull his clothes on. He didn't know whether it was the concussion or the painkiller the doc had pumped into him, but it was taking a heck of a lot more concentration than normal just to even make sure he had his shoes on the right feet. And as for the buttons on his shirt, forget about it. He tucked it in as best as he could and then wearily slid one arm into his jacket, finding it necessary to take a breather before trying to pull it the rest of the way on.

"Let me..." Don almost jumped at the sound of Stella's voice, but he didn't resist as she gently pulled the jacket into place and smoothed down the lapels. "That's better," she said, "You look a bit more human with your clothes on."

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To be continued  
Ceindreadh


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Breaking the Ice  
Author: Ceindreadh  
Characters/Pairing: Flack, Stella. Eventual Flack/Stella  
Rating: T/PG-15 Summary: Flack is in trouble, Stella looks out for him  
Genre: Het, hurt/comfort, a little romance (hopefully!) on the side.  
Notes: Started writing this mid-way through S3, so that's roughly where it's set.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the CSI NY characters, I'm only borrowing them, and I promise to return them in minty fresh condition when I'm finished.  
Previously on CSI NY - Don got hit on the head while on the job, Stella went with him to the hospital. When his doctor refused to let him leave unaccompanied, Stella offered to let him spend the night at her place.

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"Let me..." Don almost jumped at the sound of Stella's voice, but he didn't resist as she gently pulled the jacket into place and smoothed down the lapels. "That's better," she said, "You look a bit more human with your clothes on."

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[3]

Clothes or no clothes, Don was feeling slightly less than human as their cab pulled up outside the lab.

"I'll have Danny meet us outside," Stella had told him. "I can sign the evidence over to him and then take you home and put you to bed."

"Sounds great," Don had mumbled. "Mac okay with you skipping out early on your shift?"

"My shift ended two hours ago," Stella had said. "I can type up my report at home and have it ready for morning."

"Cool," and that had been the extent of the conversation from Don's side of the cab until they got as far as the lab.

The cool rush of air as Stella rolled down the window revived Don a little and he sat a bit more upright in his seat, blinking his eyes wearily as he focused on the figure who was approaching the car.

Danny Messer ambled over to the cab and bent down to see in through the window. "Hey Stella, Flack. Man, you look like crap!" There was a concerned edge to his voice as he looked at his friend.

"You wanna come in here and say that, Messer?" grumbled Flack.

Stella signed her name on the chain of custody docket and handed a packet to Danny. "See that Mac gets this."

"Sure thing Stella," said Danny, adding his name to the docket. "Oh, almost forgot." He grabbed a sports bag from the ground. "Figured youze might need a change of clothes, Flack, so I got this from your locker." He handed it to Stella.

"Thanks Danny," said Stella.

"Yeah, thanks," mumbled Don, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes.

"You look after him, ya hear?" said Danny. In a lower tone he asked, "You sure he's okay to be outta hospital? He don't look so good."

"I can still hear you," said Don. "I'm okay!"

Stella glanced over at him and then turned back to Danny, "I'll keep an eye on him. Any change and he's going back to the ER...and no arguments," the last part being addressed directly to Don who gave a shaky thumbs up.

"Yeah, well he gives you any arguments, you just give me a call and we'll haul his ass back in to Trinity," said Danny. This earned him a snort of disbelief from Don. "You take care now."

"Bye Danny," said Stella, rolling up the window as she gave the cabbie her home address.

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Stella glanced over at Don as the taxi weaved its way through the busy streets. "Hey," she said softly. "How're you holding up?"

"Mmm?" Don forced his eyes open and looked at Stella, "I'm fine," he lied, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head. He closed his eyes, only to open them again when he felt a hand on his arm.

"Don, don't lie to me," said Stella, frowning slightly. "I know how bad a concussion can hurt, and I'm not going to drag you back to the hospital just for having a headache. But I need you to be honest with me about how bad a headache it is, otherwise I'll have no idea if your condition is getting worse."

Don sighed heavily, "It's like there's two rats inside my skull trying to claw their way out, and one of them has a sledgehammer. Course earlier it was like they both were using sledges." He smiled wearily.

Stella patted him on the arm. "We'll be home soon," she said reassuringly. "You're due another dose of painkillers in a bit. And you'll feel much better once you've had something to eat."

"Ah Stel, I dunno if I'm all that hungry."

"Did I make it sound like a suggestion?" Stella smiled at the look on Don's face. "The painkillers are best taken on a full stomach. And I have some moussaka in the fridge that just needs reheating. Trust me Don."

"I always do," mumbled Don, letting his eyes close again as he leaned back against the seat.

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True to her word, Stella made sure that Don had something to eat before taking his meds. Not that he had much of an appetite. Even if the dressing on his head and the pallor of his face hadn't been sufficient evidence, the lack of interest he showed in the food would have been proof enough of his debilitated state.

After watching him push the same piece of moussaka around the plate for a good five minutes, Stella finally spoke up, "Is my cooking really that bad?" she asked teasingly.

Don looked up quickly, a faint flush of color brightening his cheeks. "What? Shit, no Stel, it's great, really." He quickly shoveled another forkful into his mouth.

Stella touched him lightly on the hand, "Relax, Don," she said, gently. "I know your appetite's going to be a bit off. And you don't Ihave/I to finish it all."

"Ma always said that if we were eating at somebody's house, we'd got to finish everything on our plates. Otherwise it was being rude to the cook."

"Well I won't tell Christo at the corner deli if you don't!" said Stella, with a smile. "Eat what you can, that's all I ask."

Don did his best, but after a few more mouthfuls, he pushed the plate away from him. "Sorry Stella, it's great, really, but I just can't."

"I told you, it's all right," said Stella, taking the plate away from him. She carried the dishes over to the sink, before filling a glass with water and bringing it back to the table. "Time for your meds."

Don grimaced as the pill containers were lined up in front of him. Painkillers, anti-imflamatorys, antibiotics, yet another bunch to rattle around his insides, as if he hadn't swallowed a whole drug store already. Reaching for the first container, he fumbled with the lid, swearing under his breath as he tried to open it. "Fucking childproof lids," he muttered under his breath before cursing out loud as the lid suddenly came free, spilling the pills over the table.

"This really hasn't been your day," said Stella, trying to keep the smile off her face at the grouchy expression on Don's face.

"You could say that," said Don, trying to hang on to the remains of his dignity. Fuck it, wasn't like he had much left to lose. He nodded to the remaining containers. "Little help, please?"

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To be continued


End file.
